Interludes
by Dylan Cruca
Summary: Beginning during "The Hole in the Heart" and moving forward. Brennan and Booth navigate the first few weeks of their intimate relationship and try to cope with their losses. This story attempts to remain true to cannon, with some obvious additions.
1. Chapter 1:The Letter

A/N-So I know I'm way too late to this fandom, but a few years ago I started this fic. I'm publishing it for my lovely friend MK, who is such a wonderful and supportive friend. I hope someone else out there enjoys it.

This begins during "The Hole in the Heart" and adds a few storylines during that time. It is supposed to keep to cannon (and hopefully I didn't mess anything up). **Italics are memories.** This fic is "M" for a reason (although hopefully there's enough plot to keep it interesting). Some chapters are "M-ier" than others. I believe this will go about 6-7 chapters in total.

Thank you in advance for taking the time to read.

Disclaimer: I do not own the show or the characters.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: The Letter**

As Booth waited in his office for information on Broadsky, his mind kept replaying flashes of the previous night. One minute Brennan was crying and he was consoling, and the next moment, his thumb was softly brushing her cheek, and then she kissed him. The second her lips touched his, his whirling mind went silent with one glorious _shush_. There was nothing in the world but the two of them.

The filmed memory was flashing in his mind almost constantly.

 _Her fingers formed a linear procession up the center line of his abdomen and spread out once they reached his chest. Her palm pressed over his heart before her fingers, fingers that he'd seen studying the tiniest breaks, kerf marks and scores in bones a thousand times over, touched his body with the same fastidious scrutiny. She touched the dimpled scar where he'd taken a bullet for her, something he would do a million times over if called upon._

 _She shifted forward, lying down on top of him and pressing her soft, clothed breasts against his bare chest. His hands slipped over her waist, lifting the sweatshirt she wore only a few inches, but enough to feel the hot line where her skin touched his._

 _His body flushed as he felt his heart pumping in overdrive, the pulse echoing through every inch of his body. He responded to her immediately in spite of his tiredness and the caution he usually embraced whenever she was involved. She mattered to him too much to make a mistake, but he knew there was no way this was a mistake. He wished he felt just a little more controlled, but he was rock hard and ready for her almost as soon as they started. He tried to shift her body so she wasn't rocking against his obvious erection._

 _She leaned down, whispering in his ear, "There's no need to feel self-conscious. I'm quite aroused, too. I have to admit I'd be somewhat disappointed if you didn't respond physically to this situation."_

" _I'm just trying not to rush this," he replied, knowing that even though she insisted she wasn't good at reading people, she seemed to read him very well at times._

 _She directed him, taking charge, moving his hands over her, helping him remove her shirt. As much as he often enjoyed the undertone of Bonesy bossiness, he was a man, and he certainly wasn't going to lie there idly. He was going to make love to her._

 _He stopped to look at her, to make sure her consent wasn't faltering, and a smile, a genuine smile, actually flashed across her lips as they looked into each other's eyes, and he felt his heart thud slightly out of rhythm with excitement. Her eyes were still damp and red, and the vulnerability she seemed willing to show only to him made him want to protect her even more than usual._

 _He rolled her under him, wanting to feel her body trapped between his and the mattress, a thought that had crossed his mind more times than he could count over the years. She twisted part way out of her pants while his mouth found her neck and then her breasts. As he sucked a nipple into his mouth, tugging firmly enough to make her moan, she finally kicked the pants off of her foot before she grabbed his head and held him against her._

 _He already knew what she'd say if she could hear his possessive thoughts, but he didn't care. He hated every man who'd ever been this close to her, and silently prayed that no other man would ever be with her like this. He was the man who belonged here, and she was the woman he belonged with._

 _He couldn't believe the sensual way she was rocking against him from beneath, her nipple in his mouth, her nails scratching at the back of his head, her sounds filling his ears. He loved all of it._

 _She rolled him over, stunning him with a sudden move that made them both smile and giggle softly. She tightened her legs around his hips, and he closed his eyes as he felt her dampness on his lower abdomen through her panties. His eyes turned more fiery, the tenderness muted by desire, but present nonetheless._

 _She sat back on his thighs, gently tracing the ridge of his still-covered cock with her fingers. The touch was feathery, enough to entice and suggest, but not nearly enough to meet his need. Suddenly he felt as if he were comprised entirely of needs and desires, the heavy weight that built in his lower abdomen was impossible to ignore. The pressure was building, craving that perfect counter pressure to alleviate the ache. She roughly yanked down his pants as if the time for politeness had run out long ago._

 _As soon as she settled on him again, her hands returned to his body, her flattened palm applying just enough additional force to make his eyes close and jaw go slack, his lips parting slightly as a result, but his hands never relinquishing a second of contact with her skin. He'd had enough foreplay, hell their whole relationship had been foreplay in one way or another, and resistance was becoming downright painful. He lifted his torso from the bed, carefully but impatiently ridding her of her panties before their bodies smashed together yet again. Tenderness had suddenly been joined by something more feral and passionate._

 _Grasping the back of her head, he held her as he kissed her, feeling the way she was brushing her wet slit along his shaft. After luxuriously tempting him, adding to the anticipation, she lifted higher and guided him inside. As his tip pierced her body, he listened to her cry out with appreciation, then moan softly as he pushed patiently into her until he was completely buried in her body. Her eyes were closed, her inner muscles quivering around him while her body accepted his presence._

 _He stared at her face, the way her forehead wrinkled and eyes clasped shut, her lips parted as she breathed more heavily. He had to close his eyes because watching her only made self-control more difficult. With his eyes closed, he concentrated on the slow, sensual pace she was setting, the feeling of her hips in his hands as he felt the waves of her body._

 _As she came, crying out, "Fuck me, Booth…please don't stop. Please…don't…stop," he knew the addiction had already taken hold._

 _After that he tried in vain to go on forever, moving her under him and slowing his pace. He knew damn well he said her name when he came, and again before his mouth gratefully found hers as soon as he could control his limbs again. He only noticed that she had come again when he felt her tremble as he slid down her body, his hips resting on the bed between her knees and his head on her stomach, trying to remove the bulk of his weight from her frame._

 _She didn't pull away when they were finished. She stared at his ceiling, placed her hand on his head, holding him against her. "What?" he asked, drained, lifting his head to see what she was thinking._

" _I've heard it hypothesized…that when an event is long anticipated and frequently fantasized about, the actual realization of that fantasy can prove unsatisfactory."_

" _What are you trying to say, Bones?" he asked, already a bit wounded._

" _This experience certainly did not validate that hypothesis. At least not for me."_

" _Oh?" he grinned, eyebrows lifting. "Is that your squinty way of trying to say it was good?"_

" _Not exactly. I am trying to say that it was exceptional. A truly superior session of sexual intercourse. Extremely satisfying."_

" _Truly superior and extremely satisfying?" he proudly asked._

 _She nodded her head, smiling back at him. "I'd say. We're well matched physically, as I often thought we'd be. Also our knowledge of partner responses and body language_ _—"_

" _That's not what made it superior. I think you know that, but you want to hear me say it anyway," he interrupted.  
_

" _Let me guess," she teased, "it was superior because you're some sort of aficionado or—"_

" _It was superior because we were making love," he interrupted. "But, like I said, I think you already know that."_

 _Although she mounted a momentary silent argument, it was obviously out of habit alone. The practiced words accusing him of the need to assign deeper meaning to sex never emerged, and instead she shrugged. "In that case…" she cautiously replied, "I will say that I'm inclined to agree with your previous assertion that lovemaking is a more satisfying experience than ordinary sexual intercourse with a partner with whom you do not share a deep emotional connection."_

 _He lowered his head back to her abdomen and sighed, sated and sleepy. "You know," he said, talking against her skin, his light stubble scratching, "I'd gloat about the fact that I was right if I wasn't exhausted."_

 _She patted his head and smiled, "I suppose that benefit, although unintentional, is a desirable byproduct of fantastic sex—" she paused as he looked at her again. She corrected, "…a desirable byproduct of fantastic lovemaking."_

 _Cradled between her legs, her fingers absently moving through his hair, the rise and fall of her stomach rocked him into a deep sleep._

A voice in his office doorway pulled him from his memory and back to reality, but certain truths remained. He loved her. There were so many more things he wanted to do with her, so many experiences left for them to have, so he knew he had to get Broadsky and then see if he could find a way to hang onto her.

* * *

Brennan was staring at the bones, wishing she could just focus but feeling her brilliant mind being pulled in a hundred different directions. She kept replaying the previous night, remembering how incredible the sex was even though they were both so exhausted. She remembered with all her senses, his smell, the way he felt, how he looked, the taste of lips, even the way he sounded when he groaned as they rocked their bodies in unison.

 _She hadn't looked at him, not since he'd been inside her, and it was obviously making him crazy. He wasn't there for physical release, neither of them were, and he couldn't bear it if she tried to tell him later that they hadn't shared a connection deeper than a simple biological need for release. They were making love, and he needed her know that, to really understand what that meant. He lowered his forearms to the crease where her hips and thighs met and pushed down, keeping her still. Her eyes quickly opened as she sought answers.  
_

" _Why are you stopping? What do you want?" she rasped, circling her hips with him buried deep inside her._

" _You," he groaned at the feeling of her. "Just you. You're all that I want."_

" _I'm right here, Booth," she chuckled, a hint of impatience tinging her words. "So you don't have to stop."_

 _He effortlessly lifted her with his arms, allowing the friction between their bodies to return, and she closed her eyes again. "Hey," he whispered, stilling her. "Look at me. This isn't just sex. You know that, right? You understand?"_

 _She stared into his eyes, carefully at first and then more assuredly. Resting her arms on his shoulders and her forehead against his, he started to move once more. The connection was deep and raw as their bodies joined, eyes locked on each other, then she confirmed, "I know. I understand."_

Part of her was disappointed that they hadn't had more time. She could do some things that might really drive him crazy, but the previous night hadn't been just sex. Booth had been right about that. The sex was incredible because of their connection. She felt her body begin to respond to the memories and decided to try to focus on the case. If she really became aroused again, she'd be distracted. Of course the fantastic sex wasn't the only thing on her mind. She had to admit, she was worried about Booth, actually terrified. There was so much on the line. Parker's father, the man she loved, the agent people respected, the man who helped bring so many to justice, could so easily be lost, and she wanted nothing more than to get answers that might help him. Their conversation as they parted that morning played in her mind.

 _She said, "I hope that you'll have no problem apprehending Broadsky."_

" _Are you wishing me good luck?" he accused impishly._

" _No. I do not believe in luck. And, even if I did…you don't need luck. Your above average skills as a sniper and an agent mean you are perfectly suited to the task. You are the best, most capable agent I have met. I believe you will prevail."_

" _Thank you." He started to walk to the bathroom and turned back, looking around as he thought. Then he stretched out his hand, "You may not believe in luck, but I do."_

" _Of course you do. What's your point?"_

" _I think…the least you can do is give me a kiss…for good luck."_

 _She smirked shyly but stood. Although he'd already slipped his pants back on, she was still completely naked. She lifted on her toes and pecked his cheek, but didn't pull away afterwards. He smiled at her, leaning down and brushing her lips, finding the quick and easy way with which she returned the affectionate kiss. When they finally stopped, her eyes were fiery, and he said softly, "Can we continue this tonight?"_

" _Yes," she nodded firmly. "Tonight."_

Standing in the lab over Leishenger's bones, she closed her eyes and stated, "I need Booth to come back tonight," and she wondered exactly what that statement was. She didn't believe in prayers or wishes, so why was she even saying it? Speaking a desired outcome aloud did not make it any more or less likely to occur. Finally she decided that, even if it was irrational, it wouldn't do any harm to make her desire clear, "Universe, I need Booth to return safely. I need him to succeed and I need us—" her chin quivered a little and she stopped. Looking down at the bones, she picked up the skull and leaned down, studying it carefully until Angela interrupted her.

Brennan hadn't planned on telling Angela, but it slipped out. Suddenly the encounter felt more real, for some unknown reason. After Hodgins rushed in and Angela swiftly dismissed him, she immediately resumed questioning. "So…? Dish!"

Brennan stared down at the skull in her hands, "These markings—"

"No. No. Do _not_ do this to me. I have been waiting _years_ for this. So put down that skull, and give me some details."

Brennan was shocked by Angela's insistence, "What do you want to know?"

"Details, Brennan! Girl talk! The scoop! I'm assuming there was more than cuddling…like nudity and orgasms?"

"Yes," Brennan blushed deeply and added, cautiously, "Well...we…made love."

The artist shook her head, trying to literally shake off her surprise. "Okay, sweetie, umm, two things. First of all…you're blushing. You've regaled me with some pretty detailed accounts of your sexual exploits in the past without turning so much as a slightly pinker shade of your normal skin tone, but you mention last night with Booth, and you're practically crimson. Secondly, you have _never_ used the term 'made love' without following it with a rant about how that phrase is inaccurate and misleading and—"

"That is the term Booth prefers."

"Sweetie, Booth isn't here right now."

"I know that, but…it's difficult to explain. It wasn't the most vigorous or lengthy sex I've ever had…after all we were tired and unfortunately I didn't go to his room until nearly sunrise so our time together was limited…but it was, by far, the best and most satisfying sex I've ever had. So I used that term, as ridiculous as it often is, to try to convey the unique and superior nature of the experience."

"The best? Really?"

"I can't even imagine how good it could be if we continue to engage in intercourse in addition to our usual interactions as partners," Brennan thoughtfully replied.

"Well, that sounds more like the Brennan I know. What do you mean 'if'? You're not actually considering going back to the way things were or—or continuing your partnership as if nothing happened."

"That is most certainly not what I want."

Angela stepped around the table, her hand touching Brennan's arm, "That man…he loves you. He has for a very, very, very long time. And you, whether you want to admit it or not, have loved him for a very, very, very long time. You do not have to protect yourself from him…so when this Broadsky thing is all wrapped up, you take that man home, lock the door, turn off your phones, and screw each other's brains out until neither of you can form a coherent sentence."

Brennan smiled softly and nodded, "I would very much like the opportunity to do that."

"Good. And get over this whole weird shy thing…next time I'm going to need better details."

As Angela walked toward the door, Brennan returned to her examination of the remains, and she said, "If you were wondering, Booth is… _very_ well formed in…absolutely every way. But he also possesses a skill set that makes wonderful use of those…formations."

Angela grinned, nodding, "Yea, I'll bet he does."

"Angela, I believe I'm frightened," Brennan said with sincerity and confusion.

"Of Booth?"

"More of a _lack_ of Booth. What if something happens to him? What if Broadsky—"

"Not gonna happen. There is no way Broadsky is going to get the best of Booth. That man has finally caught the woman he loves. I honestly think he's unstoppable."

Brennan was considering a logical retort, but instead replied, "I hope so. I should get back to the bones…I need to help in any way I can."

* * *

Booth was confident that he'd survive his fight with Broadsky, but as many soldiers do when at war, he wrote a letter to Brennan that he tucked in his pocket just in case he failed.

When he went to find Broadsky, he shut down every part of his brain that was not directly involved in the operation at hand. The best way to get back home was to be the soldier he was and do his duty. But the moment Broadsky was locked in a cell, Booth felt an unmistakable joy. He wanted to go find Bones, but he knew FBI regulations couldn't be put on hold for anything or anyone. He had a report to write, statement to provide, and forms to fill out since he'd discharged a weapon. Even all of that paperwork couldn't wipe the smile from his face.

Booth was relieved when Brennan showed up for the Squints' goodbye to Vincent. He told everyone, assuredly, that she'd be there, but part of him worried. They'd spoken only briefly after Broadsky had been apprehended, and he wasn't sure if a day full of thinking might alter their plans for the night. In truth, he was concerned that she might withdraw, that she'd make some rationalized excuse to pull away. Emotionally, things had been more than overwhelming. She was dealing with loss and Booth wondered if the realization of how she felt for him might be even harder to accept.

The moment he heard her voice, he wanted to run up to her and pull her in his arms, but he knew it wasn't the time and place. This gathering was for Vincent, and for his friends to take a moment to mourn his loss and say goodbye. When Bones smiled subtly but tenderly, he felt like everything was going to be alright, and when she looped her arm through his, offering a personal touch in spite of the fact that they weren't alone, he was even more certain. As he saw Angela grinning like a kid who just received exactly what she wanted for Christmas, he knew Bones must have told her what had happened. Even though it made him feel a sudden rush of embarrassment, he knew from the way Angela watched them that whatever Bones had said must have been good.

"Come on, guys," Hodgins said, waving the group back toward the lab.

"I'm sure everybody is really tired," Angela said, offering a preemptive excuse on behalf of her friends.

"Not too tired for a drink! One drink! For Vincent," Hodgins argued. Booth looked at Brennan, both of their expressions clearly conveying a desire to get out of there. "Guys," Hodgins pleaded, "I came up with a beverage menu just for Vincent. You have to stay for a few minutes."

Cam looked at the small printout menu that Hodgins presented and began to read with a chuckle, " _Vino Delectable_ …or _Amends on the Beach_ —"

"Right. Since he had to make amends for gossiping about sleeping with so many of the lovely ladies of the Jeffersonian…get it?" Hodgins explained.

"We get it," Angela chimed in.

"—or the _Irrelevant to the Case_ ," Cam finished reading the menu.

"That one is sans alcohol," Hodgins added. Taking Angela's hand, "Something for you, baby."

"I'll have the vino," Cam requested, surrendering.

"I'm not drinking something called _Vino Delectable_. I have standards. Do you have anything for an actual man to drink?" Booth asked. "Like beer?

"Try the _Amends on the Beach_ ," Hodgins negotiated. "After all, your partner was one of the women Vincent had to make amends to."

"Wait," Booth turned, quickly facing Brennan in search of an explanation. "You and Vincent?"

"He _told_ people we had an affair," she replied.

"Vincent lied, Booth. He told his friends he slept with all of the females here in the lab," Angela explained, hoping to head off any potential hiccups between her friends before they happened.

Booth took the drink Hodgins practically forced into his hand, but once he tasted it, Booth seemed to enjoy it. Brennan and Booth took a spot on the sofa in her office. He placed his arm across the back of the sofa just so he could have it around her. Although such a gesture was not all that uncommon, his fingers hung loosely at the end of his hand, grazing her shoulder, and things between them were somehow different.

Hodgins had found video of Vincent online, and played it for the group as they watched. They laughed, many of Vincent's factual ramblings during his chess club seemed to make his opponents crazy. "It's an interesting strategy," Sweets commented. "They actually seem distracted. It makes you wonder if he was doing it intentionally or if his—" Sweets paused as everyone stared, and then, noting their irritation, changed course, "—it's just interesting. Lots of…lots of facts."

As they watched, Brennan crossed her arms in front of her, allowing her fingers to land against Booth's side, the desire to touch him outweighing any other factors. She began to run her fingers gently over his shirt, the feeling of her warmth passing through his clothing with greater heat than was probably possible. Her actions felt oddly possessive, even if only mildly, and Booth didn't mind that at all. She'd made the first move the night before, and he was dying to get her alone so he could have a chance to seduce her, to take his time.

The previous night wasn't really the way he'd imagined their first time. He'd always thought he'd take his time, drive her crazy, make her come at least three times, and then hold her in his arms until they could make love again. Still, he didn't have any regrets about the way things had happened. It had been passionate and emotional and intense, and in that way, it was perfect. But he wanted to show her that he was a man who could be all she needed. And deep down, he really just wanted to have her again. He wanted to love her and feel her love him. Her fingers were still moving, just along his side near his chest, and even that little touch was starting to turn him on. He coughed and shifted in his seat, suddenly brought back to the conversation at hand, hearing Hodgins, Cam and Sweets talking contentedly. He didn't hear Angela conversing though, which was odd. He scanned the room for her, and when he found her, she was sitting across the way, watching them, looking as though she couldn't pry the smile off her face if she tried.

Awkwardly he met Angela's eyes, and crookedly smiled back, and they nodded at each other. "Well," Angela said loudly enough to get everyone's attention, "I'm exhausted! We all really need to get home."

"We do?" Sweets asked. "I was—"

Angela interrupted, "Hodgins was up almost all night. I barely slept. We've all been through so much. Brennan's been working for weeks on end without a break and Booth actually tracked and took down a trained killer today. Can't you see how tired they are?"

"You're right," Cam agreed, "we'll clean up here. You guys head home."

"Oh but—" Brennan began to argue.

"I'll close up your office," Angela assured, taking her friend's hand and pulling her up from the sofa.

Booth followed, and Angela finally put her hands on their backs and pushed them gently toward the doors. "Thanks, Ange," Brennan said, turning back to hug her friend.

"Make sure she gets home and goes straight to bed, big guy," Angela said to Booth. "Now you two get out of here. And, Brennan, so help me, if you are here in the morning, I'm going to kick your ass."

Booth looked at Brennan, "You ready to go?"

As they started walking out, he could feel Angela's eyes watching them leave.

* * *

They walked together, the chilly night air and urge to be alone prompting them to walk more quickly. "Realizing that they never really discussed their plans in any detail, Brennan asked, "Would you like to go to my apartment tonight? It—it's closer."

He paused and turned toward her and nodded, "Sure. Look…there's something I need to say."

"Okay." She stopped and gave him her full attention.

"I know you have some pretty strong feelings about marriage and monogamy—"

"I've changed a lot, Booth. I see the value in monogamy. While I think marriage is an antiq—"

"Please. Let me finish." She nodded, and he continued, "If you and I are going to continue seeing each other…in an intimate way…I need you to know that, there will be no other women. I'm a one woman man. But I think you know that."

"I do."

"But I can't share you with another man, Bones. I don't care if that means I'm old-fashioned or uptight, because I just can't do it. I won't. Do you understand?"

"I understand. You're the only man I've wanted for quite some time. But, in order to be perfectly clear, I will also say that I won't see other men as long as I'm seeing you."

"Okay," he smiled.

"Does this mean that you are willing to continue to have a sexual relationship with me?"

"Yea. Absolutely. Of course."

"I am pleased to hear that, for many reasons." She stepped closer, tugging on his trench coat playfully. "I was hoping I'd get to fuck you again."

"God, Bones, keep it down," he admonished, looking around.

"No one's out here, Booth. It's late. What has changed? When I used that word last night, you seemed to like it _very much_."

"I did," he responded, taking her by the arm and encouraging her to continue the walk to her apartment.

"Well I know you dislike it when I use the word 'intercourse' and now for some reason you don't like the word 'fu'—"

"Wait, stop. Listen. It's a matter of context, Bones. The things we say in a private, intimate moment between the two of us aren't necessarily the things we say when we're in public."

They walked for a short while and then she said, "You are very particular about sexual nomenclature. So if both 'intercourse' and 'fucking' are off limits, what terminology would you like me to use in public? 'Sexual acts'? 'Intimate relations'?"

"Why exactly will we be discussing our sex life in public?"

"We're alone right now although technically in public. And I think it is of the utmost importance to share frank and honest conversation about our sexual desires and boundaries. Communication is very important. Or so I've been told."

"It is. I can't argue that."

They walked in contented silence together until her apartment was in sight, and she said, "For future reference, is 'fellatio' an acceptable non-intimate moment term or do you prefer 'oral sex'?"

Booth covered his face with his hand, feeling a warm rush of embarrassment across his skin. "Tell me, Bones, exactly why did you feel the need to clear up that mystery right now?"

"Well, I was just considering the prospect of oral sex."

"Y-y-you were just thinking about that right now?"

"Oh yes. I enjoy oral sex very much, whether I'm the active or receptive partner—"

"Okay," he said as they passed someone else right near her door. "Can we continue this conversation in a moment?"

They got in her elevator and she said, "So do you enjoy oral sex or is that one of your hang-ups?"

"Me? What? No! That…that is _not_ a hang-up. The hang-up is discussing it in public but…" He smirked, reading her expression, and then he said, "Bones! Are you messing with me?"

Staring ahead in the elevator she said, "I was quite serious. I really do enjoy—" she stopped when he turned her to face him.

"You were _trying_ to make me squirm. You were messing with me! Weren't you?"

"Maybe a little," she chuckled, her eyes glowing mischievously. She smirked at him, her gaze following down his tie as she said, "But mostly I really was thinking about how much I'd love to suck your cock."

He grinned back. "Were you?"

"Interesting that you don't seem at all flustered by _that_ terminology," she sort of gloated. "Sweets would say that is very telling."

"It is not telling! I'm okay with it because we're _alone_ ," he insisted. They stepped out of the elevator and, while she opened her door, he whispered, "I'm not a prude. I'm just private. Things between us should stay between us."

As he stood in her apartment, looking around like he hadn't been there hundreds of times before, she grabbed two beers. He took off his coat and draped it over the back of one of her dining chairs. She stood in front of him, holding one beer out for him. Her attention turned toward something on the ground, and she swiftly stooped to retrieve the white envelope. "This fell out of your coat," she said, noting when she turned it over that it was addressed to _Dr. Temperance Brennan—Jeffersonian Institution._ "What is this?"

"Oh, uh…" he quickly reached for his coat, searching the pocket where the envelope should have been. "That's mine."

"It's addressed to me," she replied jovially, holding it tightly in her hand.

"But it's mine. Give it back to me. Please," he said, without a hint of levity.

She looked at the letters on the front, one finger running over her name written in his handwriting, feeling the indents in the paper left by the pen. "Okay."

He took it, folding it twice and tucking it in his wallet, which was so overstuffed with the letter that it was difficult to close. He took a long drink of his beer, taking a moment to clear his head, and then reached out for her arm, his fingers brushing down the back of it until he their fingers met. Taking her hand, he said, "Can I still stay?"

"Of course," she smiled, although she was obviously still thinking about the letter.

He took her hand and held it against his chest while he wrapped his free hand around her hip. "Why don't you show me your room…then we can get back to our previous conversation. Something about sexual _cloven-nature_?"

" _Nomenclature_ ," she corrected. "But I'm sure you know that. You're trying to distract me."

"Is it working?"

"Possibly," she calmly responded. Her fingers carefully loosened his tie and then tugged him down for a kiss. Within moments, Booth was lost in the kiss, wrapping his arms around her as he untied her jacket. When she pulled away, he stumbled forward a step, a stupidly happy grin on his face until he realized that she had a concerned expression.

"I swear I can hear you thinking," he accused.

"That's impossible."

"What's wrong?"

"Why won't you tell me what was in the envelope?"

"Because I'm here and it doesn't matter."

Her brow furrowed with question and she said, "I believe you are being evasive."

"Can you let it go, please? I've been waiting a long time to be able to hold you. And kiss you. And make love to you. I don't want to talk about that right now."

"You're right," she answered with an understanding smile. "You can explain tomorrow."

"Seriously, Bones, it's not important. A lot of soldiers do it before they go into battle. It was a letter for you in case Broadsky got a jump on me. But he didn't. So none of it matters because _I_ got _him_ , and now I'm here with you."

"Oh. You mean a message in case you were killed in action?"

"Exactly. It's not a big deal."

"If it's not a big deal, then why can't I read it? Just because you're alive?"

"Thanks, Bones," he wryly replied.

"Believe me, Booth, if I had to choose between you and a letter, I would most certainly choose to have you."

"That's a bit better."

"You really thought you might die?" she asked, the gravity of their recent situation and losses washing over her again.

"If there was even the slightest chance…I didn't want to leave this earth without telling you certain things."

"Oh," she said with calm acceptance.

"'Oh'? That's it?"

"Yes. I don't want to read a letter that requires your demise. I just—" her voice began to crack and an unexpected tear slid over her cheek. "I don't know what I would have done if you had died."

"You'd be fine," he started, but when he saw the pain on her face, he held her close and said, "But you don't have to worry about that. Because I'm right here."

"I do not want to consider a world without you. I care for you very much. And I believe you care for me."

"Absolutely I do. So, so much."

She tugged his tie and said with subtle suggestion, "Show me how much? If you aren't too tired…"

A flicker of realization crossed his face before he responded, "I'd love to."


	2. Chapter 2: Needs

A/N-Thank you all so much for your interest and support. Now that the show has ended, I wasn't sure if there would be any interest, and I'm really excited by the response so far. I hope you all continue to enjoy it! As before, this story is M-rated and I don't own the characters.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Needs**

Brennan was leading Booth to her bedroom by the tie when she paused thoughtfully. "Do you have to go to the office tomorrow?"

"No. I finished my paperwork and I haven't had a day off in a while. Why?" He smirked and pointed at her, "Are you actually thinking about not going into the lab tomorrow?"

"I was considering a day off. Well, unless remains are found."

"Sure, that's pretty much always the—" he was interrupted by his own stomach, growling loudly.

"Haven't you eaten?"

"I had something this morning. It was kind of a busy day."

"I'm sure I have something," she said, dropping his tie and walking past him to the kitchen.

He followed her, stepping behind her as she looked in her fridge. He pulled back her hair, exposing her neck before he placed soft kisses against her pulse point. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm still pretty busy," he mumbled. "I'll grab a snack later."

Her breath became just a little heavier as she tilted her head, offering him unencumbered access to the sensitive expanse of skin. With the fridge door still open, she reached behind her, her hands finding his hips, her palms pressing possessively against him. She rocked back subtly, her hand urging his hips to move too as her ass pushed against him and forced him to groan.

It was his turn to offer a stuttered breath, his arms winding around her waist, one hand cupping her breast while the other traveled lower down her abdomen to the lowest point of her stomach. "You'll like this," she said, her husky voice prickling his skin. She grabbed a few ingredients and continued making something to eat.

"Damn right I will," he grumbled, griping when she stepped away. His arms were still partially around her as she turned on the oven, preheating it. "I've been waiting years for you. I've only been waiting a few hours to eat, food can wait."

She peered over her shoulder and insisted, "I don't want you passing out on me. At least not from low blood sugar."

He chuckled and stepped against her again, his fingers tickling down to the button on her pants, popping it open before lowering her zipper. His hand wiggled into the fabric, his fingers snaking under her panties as he sought her heat. "God," he growled lustily as his fingers slid in the dampness that coated her slit.

"What?" she moaned.

"You're so damn wet, and I didn't even do anything yet," he whispered, his tongue flickering her earlobe as he spoke.

"Complaining?" she barely managed to ask, distractedly dropping something on the counter as her hands returned to the outsides of his thighs and her head lulled back against his shoulder.

"Not at all," he answered, the pad of his finger tapping her sensitive nub just to watch her pleasured expression. "It's seriously hot. I love the way you respond to me."

Her breath became even heavier as she started to forget the task at hand and just enjoy the sensations that were sweeping through her body. "Wait, Booth," she said, struggling to pull herself away like it was a monumental burden. "Let me throw this in the oven."

He still didn't let go, his hands insistently hanging onto her hips while she opened the oven and threw something in, quickly setting the timer. "There," she confirmed with satisfaction as she brushed crumbs from her hands into the sink. "I'm all yours for eighteen minutes."

"You're giving me a time limit?"

"Well—"

"Shh," he interrupted, quickly turning her so she was facing him and kissing her. He immediately lifted her up onto the counter, finally pulling her pants and panties the rest of the way from her body before he started on her shirt. "No time for chit chat," he smirked.

She started unbuttoning his shirt, deciding that she was too impatient to waste time with so many buttons before she reached for his pants. Her fingers immediately wrapped partway around his hard-on through his pants and began to stroke while he pushed forward into her grasp. In a flash his fingers were pumping into her body, feeling the warmth and wetness against his hand, and he was already losing track of his thoughts as desire crowded them out. She managed, at some point, to pull his erection from his pants and he felt a tingle up his spine as she shifted closer on the counter. He fisted his cock, his other arm wrapped around her waist, and he carefully pushed into her body. She moaned, exasperated by what she perceived as too much patience. "I need you right now."

His jaw gaped slightly for a moment, her words unexpected. His tongue slid over his lower lip to combat the dryness caused by his heavy breath and he asked, "You need me?"

"God, yes," she panted, her forearms resting on his shoulders as she started to use her surprising strength to move her body even if he wasn't going to help. Brennan knew how to take what she wanted.

His hands resting on the counter behind her, he just allowed himself to experience her for a moment, watching the way she was going to fuck him if he wasn't going to take matters into his own hands. She was unapologetically lusty, and the depth of her desire turned him on more than he'd expected. He finally allowed his hands to move to her knees, following the curve of her thighs, feeling the tight muscles beneath her soft skin. Finally his hands found her hips and slid around to the firm cushion of her ass.

He stepped away from the counter, holding her in his arms as he plunged desperately in and out of her. Her legs encircled around him, holding him against her, her arms stayed wrapped behind his neck. Surprisingly, she was just as willing to relinquish control of the moment once he was doing what she wanted. She was uninhibited, murmuring any thought that came to mind, completely wanton in the way she moved. He barely managed to speak, "You're so damn hot. You're just…so damn hot."

Those weren't the words he'd meant to speak. He wanted to say something admiring and sweet, something to convey just how attractive she was and how much he wanted her, but he couldn't seem to find any other words. Every muscle in his body was fully contracted, and his balls were so tight he swore they were in his chest. His thinking brain completely ceased to function. When all she could seem to manage to say in response was, "You. Yes. God," it became apparent that he wasn't the only one whose brain had been numbed to the point of stupidity. Numbing Brennan's brain was quite an accomplishment.

Wanting to avoid a back injury, especially when he didn't want anything to hinder them in the next few days, he held onto her more tightly, stepping over to her tall stone slab desk and setting her down on the edge. She giggled as he pulled himself up on the table and slid his body over top of her, slipping an arm behind her back and scooping her up to move her farther across the surface. Pens and paper weights and whatever the hell had been on the desk crashed onto the floor after being hit with one body part or another. Part of him expected her to disapprove, but instead she laughed, smiling at the scene they were creating. It made his heart tense in insistent pulses that made it clear just how much he adored her.

They slowed their pace for a moment, taking a chance to caress, feel and connect, but that moment was quickly shoved aside when their desires for each other became too much. They slipped easily back into their rhythm and were lost again.

He began to think of other things, the cold slab of the desk, the combination to his high school locker, anything to try to make his threatening orgasm recede. He actually groaned something aloud when she grabbed onto his back, her hands gripping at the muscle with unexpected force. She stared at him, talking through a clenched jaw as she said, "I am so close. Hurry. I need you to come with me."

At her words, his resistance was lost before he could even fully consider the request. It was the second time that night that she'd used the work "need" in reference to him and sex, and for some reason that word, said that way, by that woman, was enough to fry his mind and steal his control, and his loss of control sent her over the edge.

He lay on top of her for a few moments, hearing the way he was whispering, "God, baby," almost as if someone else was saying it. He rolled off her, forgetting for a moment that they were on the narrow slab desk, and nearly fell until she grabbed his mostly unbuttoned shirt and held onto him long enough for him to get his feet on the ground for support.

* * *

He stood next to the desk, his limbs clearly weary. She found the sight of him in such an odd state of partial undress very endearing. His shirt was mostly open, tie hanging loosely around his neck, leather holster on the floor in her kitchen. He'd stepped out of his pants somewhere between the kitchen counter and the desk, his boxers still hanging off one foot, silly socks still on his feet. When he noticed that she was looking him over, he suddenly seemed self-conscious, quickly slipping his other leg through his boxers and pulling them up while he grabbed his pants from the floor.

She sat up, her hands behind her on the desk for support. Her clothing was strewn about, and she didn't know, nor did she really care, who removed them or when or how. She wanted to have sex like that every day of her life. "You are a very satisfying sexual partner," she sighed as she stretched. "You know a lot of men—"

"Stop!" he shouted, holding a hand up. "Some topics are public topics, some are private topics, and some are never topics. Sex with other men…that's a _never_ topic. I don't want to be compared to—"

The timer on the oven interrupted them, and she stared quizzically. Hopping down without concern for her own nudity, she walked toward the kitchen. "Booth, you have always been uncomfortable when I've mentioned sex I've had with other men. I know that. Do you think I would talk about that right now?"

"I don't know. But there are certain things you can't unhear once you've heard them."

"I wouldn't bring that up only moments after we've had sex. Even I'm not that thoughtless or uncaring. I was only going to say, generally, that a lot of men wouldn't look so enticing in striped socks and boxers."

"Oh," he said regretfully.

* * *

Shortly after that they were eating the pizzas that she'd quickly thrown together on naan. He couldn't believe how delicious it was. But then again, he was starving. They ate at her dining table, both partially dressed again. They were sharing conversation just like they'd shared for years. He wondered how many meals they'd eaten together. She could probably do the math. So much between them was exactly the same, and yet everything had changed.

"What is the significance of 3:17?" she asked.

"I don't know. Is there gonna be an eclipse?" he guessed. "Some kind of meteor shower? What is this, a test?"

"No," she smirked. "When we were having sex, you said '3:17'. I was wondering why that time was significant. Or maybe you were talking about a date? March 17th?"

"3:17? I didn't say that."

"You did. Very clearly. What were you thinking about?"

"I—was…oh," he nodded. "My high school locker combination. 28-33-17."

"You were thinking about high school? Why? Were you reliving old conquests?" she asked, a little hurt. He noted that, as much as she pretended to not be jealous or bothered by the thought of him with other women, her words and tone seemed to suggest otherwise. He liked the idea that maybe she was just a little possessive over him, too.

"No. No. Not even a little bit. You are the woman I accidentally think about when I shouldn't, the woman I can't get out of my head. Believe me, you're the only woman I think about when we're together. I was trying to hold off…you know…wait for you to finish."

"Oh!" she answered loudly. "You were concerned that you were going to have an orgasm before me!"

"Thanks for spelling that out."

"Why didn't you just recite the names of saints?" she asked, trying to suppress her knowing smirk.

"I didn't want to stop completely, I just wanted to wait a little longer, okay?"

"Sure," she answered, returning to the food on her plate.

He kept thinking, realizing that he was dying for the answer to a question and finally saying, "I gotta ask you something…"

"Okay."

"Did undressing me excite you at all? Even a little?"

"I wasn't really paying attention. Your fingers can be…very distracting"

"No. I wasn't talking about today. I mean—thanks. But…you remember that case. Outside of a bank, exploding Santa."

"Yes. I remember."

"Well…you know what? Never mind. Just forget I brought it up. This pizza you made is really good," he said, taking a huge bite and hoping she'd drop the topic altogether.

She reached out and rested her fingers on his forearm, waiting for his attention. He looked at her fingers on him and then glanced up at her face, and the affectionate look she gave him made him swallow hard. "Of course I found it arousing. Extremely arousing, as a matter of fact."

"Hunh?"

"Collecting your clothes as evidence. That is what you were referring to, correct?" she clarified. He didn't really answer, so she continued. "I hoped you didn't notice. I was concerned that my pupils were dilated and my skin was flushed, thus making my aroused state obvious."

"I didn't notice."

"That moment appears frequently in my masturbatory fantasies," she stated matter-of-factly. "You?"

"Me?"

"Yes. Did you ever use that memory during masturbation?"

"Uh," he awkwardly began, wondering if he'd ever stop feeling self-conscious with her about topics like this. "I mean…sure. Yea. Lots of times. Imagining if things had continued—had you know…"

"Oh," she said, the suggestive glint in her eye making his revelation suddenly feel completely worthwhile. "Perhaps we could use that to our advantage."

"How?"

"Maybe we could…recreate the memory. Without the interruption. Or the brain matter."

"You know I'm not a role playing kind of guy."

"Is it really role playing if we aren't playing different roles? We'd be ourselves, simply two people reenacting and elaborating on a shared memory for our mutual pleasure."

"That's true," he admitted cautiously.

"So perhaps you'd consider indulging in that little fantasy with me, since it lies within your comfort zone."

"Yea, I mean. I think so," he nodded, enjoying the pleased and excited look on her face. "But not tonight."

"Oh, definitely not tonight."

"Wait. Why'd you say 'definitely'?"

"Because our sexual relationship is new and exciting enough for the time being. In reality, we might be able to start that fantasy, but within a few minutes we'd probably just run out of patience, forget the fantasy and just have sex."

"You're probably right."

* * *

As they were clearing the handful of dishes, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off her. He took her hands, held them in his, and he said, "You're so beautiful, Bones. I've looked at you thousands of times, and I'm still not used to how gorgeous you are…the way it makes me feel—the way I feel _about_ you. I could look into your eyes for days. And when you smile or give me that confused look…my heart almost can't take it."

She looked down, staring at his chest. "I am certain that with your physical conditioning, your heart is quite healthy."

He took a finger, gently lifting her chin. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she answered, looking at him but not maintaining her usual forthright stare.

"If nothing is wrong, why did you look away?"

"I didn't. I'm looking at you."

"But at first you looked away. See, Bones, you can say stuff about sex and bodies and biology and not even blink twice, but if I want to talk about something more personal…like about hearts and feelings, you seem to feel awkward."

He watched her prepare a counter-argument in her head, but when she spoke, she said, "I would like a shower now. Care to join me?"

"You know, Sweets would say that you're avoiding the subject…deflecting."

"Well," she commented, "that is yet another reason why I'm glad I'm having sex with you instead of Sweets."

He smirked and watched while she shed and dropped the clothes she'd put back on only a few minutes earlier and walked into her room, waving her hips just enough to be sure she had his attention. It was obvious that she thought she had the upper hand.

Booth took a few long steps to catch up with her and quickly surrounded her, confining her with his palms against the wall of her room next to her shoulders. She chuckled in a way that was both seductive and victorious as she reached forward like she planned to undress him again, too. In a flash he had her wrists in his hands, pressing them against the wall over her head. His one hand, wider and stronger than hers, was able to trap both of her wrists, leaving his other hand free.

Their chests were so close, both breathing hard, and he brought his lips so close to hers that he could see the satisfaction in her eyes. "You think you know what's happening right now. Don't you?" he asked.

"I hope so," she answered assuredly. "I think rough sex can be—"

"You're wrong," he interrupted. "This, right now, is not sex."

"Well, not yet. Obviously."

"I'm putting on the brakes for a minute. This is a conversation," he corrected. "See I went years and years watching you, wanting you, and resisting you. I'm an expert. And now you think you can distract me by wiggling your ass in front of me? I have some pretty well developed self-control. And, yea, you look good, and, yea, I want to have you again and again and again…and I don't think I'm going to stop feeling that way any time in the near future. But there's other stuff I want, too. Stuff that is just as important."

"Tell me what you want," she asked, a little less certain of herself.

"I want to be able to tell you that…you mean so much to me. You're my partner. And my friend. And…maybe my girlfriend?"

"Well, given that we both concede that there's a strong emotional connection, we both have agreed to exclusivity, and we are sexually involved, it seems the term applies."

"That's very romantic," he deadpanned.

"Then we agree. Now that that's out of the way…" she moved her lips closer to his but he pulled back.

"No. It's not 'out of the way'. This...the part of us that isn't work and isn't sex…is just as important to me."

* * *

Brennan was now both frustrated and confused. Years of loneliness made her appetite for him almost unquenchable, and the prospect of rough sex against her wall not even an hour after the last time they'd had sex was definitely appealing.

Booth was different than most men. In truth, it was part of what made him so attractive and intriguing, but at the same time made her feel more out of control than she was used to feeling. Booth wouldn't be easily lead by promises of a sexual nature.

"Bones!" he said more loudly. "Are you listening to me?"

"I was thinking. But also listening. You were talking about the different facets of our relationship. And that the part that is neither work nor sex is equally important to you."

He appeared to be pleased that she'd heard. "So you heard, but did you understand?"

"I am not sure," she admitted. "I'm not sure how that actually translates to what you want from me right now."

"Want from you? I just want to be with you. I might kiss you, or touch you, or just be next to you without having sex. Sometimes I just want to be close to you…between rounds. Does that make sense?"

"Oh," she said, finally feeling like she understood. "You don't want sex yet because you are still in your refractory period and aren't able to perform again at this time. I—I understand. No problem. I'm already very satisfied."

"Woah, woah," he argued adamantly, "this is not a performance issue. I am pretty much constantly interested in having sex with you, but that doesn't overrun my other interests. It isn't a performance issue, it's a heart issue. And no, I don't mean the muscle, I mean," he put his hand against his chest, "a _heart_ issue."

"Okay," she nodded, focusing the totality of her attention and interest on him and waiting.

"Look," he explained, "I don't want us to be work partners who sleep together. I need more. I feel like we have a chance together…a chance for something really good. And I don't want to mess it up. Believe me, I want you…I've always wanted you…but I want more. I want romance and love."

"Of course," she said as if it were obvious. "I'm not a very romantic person by nature. But I can try. Tell me what you want me to do."

"Kiss me."

"Is this a test?" she skeptically questioned. "Because you just told me—"

"It's not a test. Just a kiss."

She leaned forward, her lips gently caressing his for a second. As she backed away, he locked eyes with her, and the look of adoration that he offered actually made her breath hitch and her heart flutter irregularly for a moment. She came forward again, closing the gap between them and kissing him in the same affectionate manner. His hand released her wrists and he held her face. Her fingers walked up his chest and behind his neck. When she'd kissed him the night before, she'd been so sad and vulnerable, but this was entirely different. In truth, even kissing him bore an intensity and depth of emotional feeling that she'd never experienced with anyone else. "This is nice," she whispered. "I like it."

"I do too," he nodded, his grin both joyful and a shy, and then kissed her again.

She knew that in matters of sex, she purposefully kept a careful boundary between her and her partners, but she was not going to be able to maintain that boundary with Booth. His tender touch was like a wrecking ball to any walls she had, and she understood there was an important choice to make. She could either move forward, or flee. The third option, careful near distance, was no longer available. The thought of running from the swelling of feelings she was experiencing, fleeing from this man next to her, filled her with an empty dread she didn't even want to consider much less face.

He stopped kissing her, his hands caressing her so lovingly as to make his feelings seem unavoidable. All of the collected evidence, although not quite as measurable as she typically preferred, led to one undeniable conclusion: they were in love. It was frightening, and exciting and wonderful.

"Booth," she whispered, "it seems that you were correct. Your refractory period is clearly over." She gazed down between their bodies and lifted her eyebrows.

"I did actually notice that, Bones."

"You've made your point. Non-sexual intimacy is very rewarding and pleasurable on its own."

"Good. That's good," he said, the way his grip tightened and the interested look on his face making it clear that he also valued sexual intimacy.

"Since I concede your point, I will make adjustments. I suppose it's my turn to…how did you say it? 'Put on the brakes.'"

"Wait—"

"Let's get a shower and explore this further," she offered, slinking out from his arms and walking toward the bathroom. After a few steps, realizing that he wasn't following her, she tried to stifle her smile when she turned back to him.

He was still leaning, one hand bracing his weight against the wall, hard and frustrated and a little disoriented. Finally he looked at her, and she waited for him to catch up. He suddenly seemed to realize that she had been teasing him before she said, "I am…quite funny."

"You're hilarious," he chuckled dryly.

"If you'd like, I could help you relieve some of that tension. You coming?" she asked, dashing off into the bathroom and yipping when he ran after her and caught up.

* * *

He heard her phone ring and instinctively reached out for his own. It was dark outside, obviously very late, and most calls that came in at such an hour meant there was a body. He glanced at his phone, his eyes still not focusing as he waited for his to ring. She slipped out of bed and left her room.

He wriggled in her bed, the soft zillion count sheets beneath his fingers. He was a little achy and tired, but damn he felt good. He loved Bones' room, or, more specifically, being invited into her room, into her bed. His eyes grew heavy again, and he started to doze.

He woke again, uncertain if he'd been sleeping for a few seconds or several minutes, and wondered why she hadn't returned. He got up, stretching for a moment before he looked around for his clothes. It felt like he'd undressed and redressed about half a dozen times, and he tried to remember when and where he'd lost his boxers and pants the last time she'd taken them. Finally he grabbed a robe she had on a hook behind the door. It was black and silky, too short for a man but better than walking out to the living room naked. After all, maybe someone called before coming over, and he wasn't about to be seen stark naked by anyone who would visit her in the middle of the night.

He peered out carefully, knowing he certainly didn't feel like seeing Max or Russ unless he was completely dressed. He didn't hear anyone except Bones, so he stepped out of her room and saw her sitting on her sofa. Her forehead was resting in her hand and she was still on the phone. The screen glowed against her face, casting a bluish-white color across her skin. She didn't seem to notice him yet.

As he came closer, he heard her say, "…he will be greatly missed. I am…very sorry for your loss." She hung up a few seconds later, and then looked at Booth, "Did I wake you?"

"I heard your phone," he said, sitting on the sofa next to her. "Is everything okay?"

She turned toward him, and scarce light from outside cast only enough additional glow for him to notice that her cheeks were damp with tears. "Come here," he said, sitting back in the corner of her sofa and pulling her toward him.

Her feet curled up on the sofa behind her, she leaned her face against his chest and sighed. He waited, knowing that she would talk to him when she was ready. "That…was Vincent's mother."

"Oh," he said, his hand rubbing her back supportively. "That must have been difficult."

"Actually she called to thank me. She wanted to tell me how much the internship meant to Vincent. She's probably too…sad…to remember the time difference."

"That was nice of her."

"Yes. She was very kind. She doesn't seem to blame me even though she is devastated. I can't even imagine what it would be like to lose a child."

"Why would she blame you?"

"If I hadn't given Vincent the internship, he wouldn't have been at the Jeffersonian. He never would have been hit by Broadsky."

"And I gave him the phone. But Broadsky pulled the trigger. He is the only one who killed Vincent."

"I still feel a certain responsibility for his death."

"Look, Bones, Vincent was living his life, doing what he wanted to do. People can't live their lives in fear. Every time you go outside, there is a risk that something could happen. We take risks every single day without even realizing it. You could catch a horrible virus or be hit by a car or struck by lightning, be shot by a fritzed out drug addict. You could stay inside, keep to yourself, avoid contact with every human being…but even then, there could be a fire or—"

"Or someone could shoot me through a window."

"Exactly. And if you hid here…you and I never would have met. Think of all of the things you'd have missed out on. The job you love, Angela, your interns, a relationship with your brother or Max. I get that it's hard, but it is worth it. I think it was worth it for Vincent, too. Vincent wanted to be there…he wanted to live life and chase his dream. Broadsky's the bad guy."

"I think I would have found it easier if she had been angry at me. I know it's irrational, but—"

"It's not. I get it. Believe me. I felt like that a lot."

"In the army?"

"Yea. And in the FBI. I've seen too many good people die. People who weren't ready, who didn't deserve to die."

"How did you deal with it?"

"Sometimes I drank heavily. But ultimately I pray. I pay my respects. Offer condolences. When I can, I try to make sure the person responsible can't hurt anyone else."

"You already made sure Broadsky can't hurt anyone else. I don't believe in god, so praying when I need comfort seems hypocritical."

"I'll do the praying for both of us," he offered.

After a few moments, she pressed her hand on his chest and sat up. "I have a favor to ask."

"Name it," he said with a flickered smile.

"Do you think you could take a few days off from work? Like, three or four?"

"What are you thinking?"

"You said you pray, pay respects and offer condolences."

"Yes."

"I want to go to Vincent's funeral, in England. I want to pay my respects and offer condolences to his family in person."

"That's very nice, but—"

"I—I will buy the tickets."

"I couldn't let you do that."

"You will be the one doing me a favor. The least I could do to thank you for your assistance is purchase your ticket. Please, Booth," she pleaded.

He nodded, "Yea. If that's what you need to do. I think it's really nice that you want to do that. Very thoughtful."

"Thank you," she said, curling her body next to his. "I find I'm feeling very affectionate toward you, Booth."

"I'm happy to hear that," he whispered, softly kissing the top of her head. He tightened his arm around her, hearing her soft, comforted sigh. "I'm also feeling…very affectionate toward you, Bones."


	3. Chapter 3: Those Things

**A/N-Thanks for your continued kindness and support! I'm sorry I haven't had time to answer reviews, but I really do appreciate them, as well as favorites and follows. I'm trying to post a chapter at least one a week, so I needed every spare moment to write.**

 **Chapter 3: Those Things**

Propelled by a sense of duty and purpose, Brennan hurriedly prepared for their trip. An assistant who'd handled Brennan's book tour travel made the flight, ground and hotel arrangements. Booth went in to work to do a few things before leaving and stopped at his apartment to pack his bag for the flight.

The moment Brennan walked into the lab, Angela hurried over to her. "Honey, you seriously can't take one day off?"

"I am not taking one day off. I'm taking four days off."

"Let me guess…remains in Guatemala or Myanmar or some remote village that has no name?"

"No. We're going to England. I want to attend Vincent's funeral."

"Oh," Angela said, her teasing smile falling.

"Do you think that is a mistake?"

"No. I think it's a wonderful idea," Ange answered, her hand resting over her own heart as she was touched by her friend's thoughtfulness. "You said 'we're going to England'. Does that mean Booth is going with you?"

"Yes," Brennan said with a slight blush.

"Good. I don't think you should be alone."

"Oh, I'm not in any danger. Broadsky is locked up and—"

"That's not why I think you shouldn't be alone. Emotional support. You know?"

"I don't need any—" Brennan paused. "But I am glad he's coming with me."

* * *

Booth hurriedly arranged for a few vacation days and practically ran through his apartment to get the things he needed. He called Parker and Rebecca to let them know he'd be out of town for a few days, but back in time for his Saturday with Parker.

He'd insisted on dropping Brennan off at the Jeffersonian and picking her up when he was done getting his things. He had pretty much always felt protective of her, but given her emotional state, the changes in their relationship, and recent threats, he felt even more protective than usual. When he finally got to the lab and laid eyes on her, he felt immediately more at ease.

He rushed her out of the lab, hoping she wouldn't get pulled into work.

"What are we doing here?" Brennan asked as Booth parked his truck.

"I'm starving. I just want to stop for something for the road," he answered.

"I don't think this restaurant specializes in carryout."

"I've got it covered."

Booth took her to the bar, sat her down, and asked her to wait a moment. She ordered her drink as he hurried back to the kitchen. They arrived before dinner would be served, so there wasn't a lot of activity in the kitchen besides a few prep cooks busily chopping in one corner. "Gordon-Gordon! Thank God you're here!" Booth said as he quickly walked up to his friend and shook his hand.

"Agent Booth, what a pleasant surprise. I heard about the lovely Dr. Brennan's intern. Please offer her my condolences."

"You can offer them yourself," Booth replied cheerily.

"Mmmm," Wyatt replied suspiciously, "I have the distinct impression that this isn't a purely social visit."

"Maybe not."

"I'm no longer practicing psychiatry, my friend. The young but insightful Dr. Sweets is more than capable of assisting you both through the grieving process and any associated—"

"Look, I can't talk to Sweets. Not about this. It's about Bones."

"So you're here on her behalf?"

"Kind of…both our behalves."

Wyatt leaned back on the stainless table behind him, folded his arms and said, "I can listen. But I'm no longer—"

"Sure, sure. Look, the night the kid died, Bones' intern, I made her stay at my place just to protect her. The guy who we were chasing, they guy who killed Vincent, he was highly trained, and extremely dangerous. He was after me, which made her just as much of a target."

"Protectiveness is a hallmark of your partnership. A fact that Dr. Sweets knows all too well."

"Right. That's not the problem. She came to me because she was really upset. I've been there when she's gone through some pretty difficult things, but this really shook her. It was different."

"That's understandable. If anything, the fact that she sought you out when she was hurting and was willing to share that vulnerability with you shows incredible growth and trust. She didn't feel the need to withdraw."

"See, that's part of the problem. She trusted me."

"She has trusted you implicitly for a very long time. I'm afraid I fail to see why you've charged in here seeking counsel."

"See, look, I was holding her and comforting her and…I honestly don't know why one thing led to another this time, but it just did."

"As in…"

"As in _sex_ ," Booth guiltily whispered. "We didn't talk about it. It just kinda happened."

"Say no more. I think I know where this is headed. Some women have difficulty in that department when their minds are overwhelmed. Don't take it to heart."

"What? No! I swear everyone secretly wants me to fail in the sack."

"What a bizarre accusation."

"Why did you go there?"

"Because you and Dr. Brennan finally consummated your relationship and I assumed that would make you happy. Since you're clearly not happy, I'm guessing you felt insecure about—"

"I'm not feeling insecure."

"Then she's since withdrawn from you? Put distance between you emotionally and-or physically since then? That's also not all that surprising given that—"

"No, actually. Not at all. Which is kind of surprising. But it's good. I mean…I think it's good."

"Well, obviously I'm not the psychiatrist I once was! Before I make any more erroneous suggestions, why don't you tell me what the problem is, because I fail to see one."

"She was vulnerable, in pain. She needed me, trusted me…and I had sex with her."

"You feel guilty?"

"Yea. I mean everything was good, great actually, but I can't shake the feeling that I…took advantage of her."

"I don't think you're capable of taking advantage of her, Agent Booth. You're a man in love. And she is a woman in love. And you both treat each other with the utmost respect, admiration and devotion. Does she feel taken advantage of?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't ask her?"

"Well, no."

"If you're going to embark on an intimate and romantic relationship, you're going to need to learn to discuss the few things that have traditionally been off-limits topics. She's going to become suspicious if you keep running to my restaurant every time there's something the two of you need to discuss."

"It's not like we haven't talked at all. I mean she knows that this isn't just a physical thing. We agreed that it's something more. I just didn't ask her that particular question."

"Ah! This situation is coming into focus. You're concerned that she feels you've exploited her by making advances while she was in a precarious emotional state—"

"Not exactly," Booth interjected.

"Not exactly _what_?" Wyatt asked with confusion.

"She really…you know… _she_ made the advances," Booth whispered. "But I didn't stop her. And then I was what you might call an 'active participant.'"

Wyatt chuckled, "I doubt Dr. Brennan would do anything she hadn't carefully decided upon."

"So you don't think the timing is…you know…"

"Well, you two have been dancing around this for what six years or so? Obviously a real gentleman would wait a solid decade before rushing foolhardily into a sexual relationship with the woman he loves," Wyatt said tilting his head and leaning forward with his knowing near smirk.

Ignoring Wyatt's sarcasm, Booth continued, "I just…I don't want to hurt her."

"I know that," Wyatt answered. "I suspect she knows that as well. That's why you're worried now even though you probably have no cause to be. Come here." Wyatt took them to a door beside the bar, "Take out your phone. I want you to dial her number. Watch her face when she answers."

"What do you want me to tell her when she answers?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Well she's going to get suspicious if I don't say anything."

"Just…invite her back here. That's not the important part."

"Fine," Booth said, calling her.

The two men watched through the window of the door as she fished her phone from her pocket. Booth saw the smile that flashed on her face before she answered, "Brennan."

"Hey. It's Booth."

"Yes," she replied calmly. "I've had your number programmed into my phone for a very long time."

"Right. Umm…Want to come to the kitchen?"

"The kitchen? Okay. Is someone listening? Are you in some kind of trouble? We need a code word. If you are in danger, say 'Epiphyseal Dysplasia'. If not, say—"

"If I'm not in trouble why would we need a code word?" he asked.

"That is an excellent point."

"Bones, I'm not in trouble. Just please come back here?" he asked before he hung up.

Wyatt pointed through the window as they watched Brennan gather her things. "That smile, the look on her face the moment she saw your name on her phone…that look is the look of a woman in love."

"You think?"

"I know. So lay to rest any concerns you may have about taking advantage of her or somehow abusing the situation. The two of you have tiptoed around this for years. You've made excuses, hurt each other, tried separation, tried seeing other people, talked about it, talked to other people about it…in my entirely un-professional opinion, something had to happen to trigger the proverbial leap. Death reminds us that life is ephemeral and fragile. Love…is a very positive response. In some cases, with some people, I would advise against any major changes during a time of grief. But I firmly believe that you both acted out of love. I can think of few more noble inspirations."

"Thanks, Gordon-Gordon."

"Not a problem. Now, before she gets here…You need to work on these issues with her. Talk about them. Be honest. You have makings of a very good and possibly lasting relationship. You've seen the worst and best of each other already. You've already built trust, and a love that actually runs deeper than many people in a purely romantic relationship because of all you've endured."

* * *

When Brennan walked into the kitchen and saw Booth talking secretively to Wyatt, she knew for certain Booth hadn't just come for the food. Her first thought was that Booth had regrets, and was seeking Wyatt's counsel on the matter. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Dr. Wyatt," she said, trying to look happy to see him.

"And you, Dr. Brennan. If you'd like to sit down, I'll make you something," Wyatt offered, gesturing to a nearby chair.

"Actually, do you have a to-go box?" Booth asked.

Folding his arms, Wyatt countered, "Do I look like a poorly complexioned teen at a drive-through window wearing a headset?"

"We have a plane to catch."

Wyatt stepped back and said disapprovingly, "I'll see what I can find."

Once Wyatt was on the other side of the kitchen, Brennan whispered, "You could have just told me, Booth. I can handle it."

"Handle what?"

"I know why we're here. You wanted to ask Dr. Wyatt how to 'put the brakes on things' for a while. Isn't that what you called it? Do you…do you think we're a mistake?" She felt her heart breaking, terrified of whatever words he was about speak. Internally, she admonished herself for even allowing the thought of happiness.

He immediately stepped closer, "Hey, we are _not_ a mistake. I was feeling a little guilty. Like maybe I took advantage of you."

" _You_ took advantage of _me_?"

"Because I had sex with you when you were vulnerable."

"You did not take advantage of me, Booth! Don't you remember? I was the one who initiated sex. I was responsible. And I have no regrets. Do you?"

"No regrets," he said with pure sincerity. "And of course I remember. I just…I don't want to hurt you. And I _never_ want you to feel like I've used you."

"You're not that kind of man. I know you. You're a very good man."

"My dear people," Wyatt announced as he approached with a small insulated bag, "take this with you. When you return, perhaps we could all get together and I can serve you a decent meal in an actual social setting as opposed to a consultation in disguise."

"I would enjoy that very much," Brennan answered.

As she turned and took a few steps toward the door, she heard Booth say to Wyatt, "Thank you. Really."

* * *

The limo picked them up at Brennan's apartment, the driver actually coming to her door to gather their luggage. Booth tightly gripped his duffel, tossing a firm look to make it clear that he carried his own bags.

"He's here to help, Booth," Brennan whispered.

"You know my training regimen? I think I can handle one piece of luggage."

As they walked to the limo, the driver opened the door for them before putting the luggage in the trunk, Booth insistently keeping his bag on the seat in front of him. The driver began the trip to the airport, lowering the privacy shield after a moment and saying, "Excuse the interruption, but there have been some changes made to your travel itinerary."

"We should have made the plans ourselves," Booth whispered to her.

"Amanda has arranged for a private jet so you don't have to deal with fellow travelers during this time of loss."

"Oh," Brennan said calmly, "that's quite thoughtful. I'll email her later to express my appreciation."

Booth stared at her out of the corner of his eye and once the privacy shield was up, he said, "How is it possible that we share ninety percent of our waking hours together but somehow live in two completely different worlds?"

"I think ninety percent is an overestimation. If you spend time commuting, an hour training—"

"Bones," he interrupted, "the exact percentage isn't important."

"Then why did you mention a percentage at all? That implies a quantitative analysis of—"

"I was trying to make the point that we spend a lot of our time together. That's all."

"Okay," she allowed. "But I disagree. We live in the same world."

"The world of crime solving, sure, but you're rich."

"Hodgins says I'm 'well-off'. He's rich."

"In my world, people send flowers when someone dies. Or a fruit basket. In your world, they hire a private jet."

"I never understood the point of sending cut flowers to commemorate a death. I always thought that watching the flowers wither was just a reminder of the certainty of death, and the typical loss of vibrancy and beauty that often precedes it. Although I do enjoy fruit."

"The fruit wasn't the point."

"I understand. You're saying that my publisher offered a gift that seemed extravagant given the circumstance."

"Yea, I mean. Pretty much. Don't you think it's a bit extreme?"

"Perhaps. We may come from slightly different circumstances, but we've always shared. You showed me some black ops stuff. I've taught you the names of many bones, enough that you can often translate for other law enforcement. You took me out in the field and then showed me the joys of sharing a beer after a case."

"—And you share your pool with my son."

"And in turn, I've been able to have Parker in my life. To share my love of science with him. If we came from identical circumstances, think of how many experiences we would have missed out on? Our lives are 'richer' because we share them with each other."

Booth smiled and nodded, "That's really smart. Actually, it's very _romantic_."

"I am not romantic."

"That makes it all the more romantic," he argued.

"You are a very confusing man," she replied.

"I think that's why you like me."

"Well, now we can share another new experience. A private flight to London."

* * *

Booth tried to take it all in stride, to act like he didn't feel completely out of place as they walked through a small screening area and out to board the plane. Brennan walked up the steps and into the plane before him, and he heard her say, "See. Our worlds are not all that different. Flowers."

He looked past her and saw the flowers on a table in front of one of the stuffed reclining seats. It was the largest arrangement of bright white flowers he had ever seen. "Yea. Practically identical," he mumbled.

"They're lilies," she explained. "From the Greek 'leiron'. Often used at funerals to symbolize a return to purity and innocence after death."

Booth sat down in one of the recliners and put his feet up, sinking into the comfortable chair and sighing his content.

"There's a minibar," she added, looking pleased that he was enjoying himself. Holding up a bottle of fine scotch, she said, "Want some? I like these tiny bottles."

"You know that's a lot bigger than the normal bottles in a minibar, right?"

Ignoring him, she handed over the bottle and sat down in the seat next to his. She also put her recliner back and feet up. "This is a lot better than a normal plane," he admitted.

"Perhaps being _associated_ with me can have its perks."

Rolling on his side, facing her, he smirked, " _Associated_ with you?"

"Yes. I can't help but think that it is more fun to share this trip with someone else."

* * *

"I can't believe I slept that long," he said when they landed. "I barely got to enjoy it."

"Your snore is…impressive. Astonishing, really."

"I was on my back," he defended, "and my head was tilted at a weird angle." He stretched to try to work the kink out of his neck.

"We still have a return flight," Brennan responded pragmatically.

They immediately got in another smaller limo and continued their journey. "The funeral is in a few hours," she explained somberly. "We have to go almost immediately. I'm sorry there won't be much time in between. We were fortunate to get here in time for the service."

"No problem," he answered softly.

His hand fell on top of hers, offering unassuming comfort, seeming to know when she felt particularly sad and uncertain. "I am glad you are here, Booth."

"I'm glad you wanted me here," he replied.

She watched as Booth seemed equally awed by the hotel, and she remembered all of those times they stayed at different places, she in more expensive hotels while he slept in budget motels with mattresses that inevitably killed his back. She readied herself for the funeral, dressing in a simple black dress with neatly tied up hair. Vincent's family was very wealthy, so she expected the funeral would be formal. Booth seemed to transform in mere seconds from casual American traveler to handsome gentleman. He actually shook her breath for a moment, and she wasn't quite sure why. He wore a charcoal grey suit with a deep purple tie. He was refreshed, and the care he took to make sure his suit was perfect, hair neatly combed and gelled, and face shaven showed a level of respect that she fundamentally understood.

"You don't usually wear that suit, do you?" she asked.

"You noticed, Bones?" he proudly replied. "This is for formal occasions. Weddings, funerals, you know. Not the same stuff I wear to take down bad guys and look at dead bodies."

"It complements your structure."

"Thank you," he smiled softly. "You look amazing too."

"Unfortunate that we're dressed for a funeral."

"Yea," he answered, offering his arm.

She took it and he escorted her back to the waiting car.

* * *

Vincent's funeral was enormous. Everyone gathered in the echoic Anglican Cathedral for a formal service. "Vincent was an atheist," Brennan insisted as a loud pipe organ filled the space with song. "This funeral is not what he would have wanted."

"Because funerals are for the living, Bones," he replied. "So the living can mourn the dead."

"It doesn't seem right."

Booth stared down at a hymnal and Brennan added, "Would you do that to me?"

"Do what?" he hush whispered.

"Would you want to have a Catholic funeral to mourn me?"

"No. Of course not. Not that it matters—"

"Of course it doesn't matter," she agreed. "I have specified the exact nature of my funeral in my will."

"I meant that it doesn't matter because you're going to live a very long time."

"You don't know that," she argued as the music stopped. A few tiny, withered women nearby cast her a disapproving look for speaking at such an inappropriate time.

"Can we continue this discussion later?" he asked.

Brennan nodded, listening to the ceremony. Her eyes remained fixed on the shiny metal hardware and sleek lacquered look of the casket itself. She took a few mental notes about the ceremony, deciding to consider any anthropological lessons learned, but found her thoughts more often drifted to Vincent. She wondered what kind of funeral he would have wanted, and thought, selfishly perhaps, that he probably would have enjoyed the simple sendoff given outside of the Jeffersonian the best.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, finding a few teary young women and wondering if they were romantic interests or relatives. Vincent's father looked so much like him, only slightly older. He had touches of grey in the hair around his face, and was a few pounds heavier, but had overall the same lanky and somewhat feeble build. Vincent's mother appeared calmly stoic. Brennan respected that, in a way, but realized as she watched the woman that her pain seemed the most palpable in spite of her lack of overtly emotional behavior.

After the ceremony, the crowd filed out, the attendees heading to their vehicles to go to the cemetery. Brennan nearly told Booth that she was relatively certain that Vincent would have preferred to be cremated, but then she realized with great sadness that someone as young as Vincent probably hadn't put much thought into his funeral, least of all formalized his wishes in a will.

* * *

Booth had been to too many damn funerals. It wasn't that he didn't want to be there, quite the contrary. But he'd been to more funerals in his life than weddings and baptisms combined, and that seemed to throw life off balance. He'd expected more arguments from Brennan, but after her initial criticisms, she remained quiet. In his mind, he could still hear her talking during his "funeral" years ago.

After the ceremony at the cemetery, she politely waited to speak with Vincent's parents. Booth watched while she offered her condolences, clearly stating, "I'm very sorry for your loss," just as he'd taught her all those years ago. But he could hear how thoroughly she meant it. She handed Vincent's mother a box, and said, "These are a few mementos from Vincent's colleagues and mentors at the Jeffersonian. He was well-liked, respected for his knowledge and desire to share all that he'd learned. He was also devoted, hard-working and quite enthusiastic. He would have become a very well-respected authority in the field. He was my favorite intern."

"She really means that," Booth added. "Dr. Brennan isn't the type of person to say things just to be polite."

"I am not a polite person," she agreed.

Booth wondered if she had any idea how that actually sounded. "I really liked your son. I'm with the FBI. I worked with him on several cases."

"Agent Booth," Vincent's father said. "We've heard of you as well."

"I am very sorry for your loss," Booth said. "Vincent was a good kid."

Many people were waiting behind them, and neither of them knew what else to say, so they slowly ambled back to the car. "So often after people die, I focus on solving their murder. Bringing the person who is responsible to justice," Brennan noted.

"Yea well, we already did that," Booth answered.

"Usually it takes time. I spend time with the bones. Get to know them. I don't know what I expected to have happen today. I still feel sad."

"That's understandable. It takes time...the people who matter to us don't just vanish. They fade."

"We came all this way and, I'm not sure what I accomplished."

"It meant something to his parents that you came."

"You too."

"Yea, but, he was one of yours. You represented the whole squint squad. Speaking of the squint squad, what was in the box?"

"Oh. I wanted to give them the paper that Vincent and I had worked on."

"The T-Rex versus Humans thing?"

"Yes. I did my best to complete it. When I told Angela what I was doing, she wanted to send something. Then everyone wanted to share something with his family. Angela drew a picture of him and around it in those cartoon bubbles she wrote many of the facts he'd discussed. It was a humorous rendering of his time at the Jeffersonian. Hodgins gave them some basic schematics that Vincent drew for one of their contraptions. Cam gave them a letter of recommendation that she was working on for him…something he wanted for a dig abroad during the summer."

"That was a really nice touch, Bones. Really. For a bunch of people who like to insist the heart is just a muscle, your squints really showed a lot of real heart…the kind of heart that isn't a muscle."

"I think I am the only one who insists on such cold, logical distinctions."

Hearing the dour tone in her voice, he insisted, "I didn't say that. I don't think you're cold." Getting her attention, he lifted his eyebrows suggestively, "In fact, I think you can be very, very warm and very, very, very affectionate."

"You're only saying that because we now have intercourse," she clinically noted.

"No," he said when they were only a few feet from their vehicle. "I've always insisted that. I know who you are. The warm, caring person that you keep hidden inside. I actually think you're the one with the most sensitive heart, if you want the truth."

She crinkled her forehead, "Is that an attempt at humor through sarcasm?"

"What? No. Not at all."

"Then I suspect you're only trying to be kind."

"I'm not. Bones, I wouldn't do that. The reason why you're so careful with your heart is because deep down it feels too much. It hurts too much. Over the years, you've let me see more and more of it. Because, hopefully, you trust me with it."

He awaited her swift dismissal of his thoughts, certain that she was about to cut down any such silly notion, but she took a lightening step forward, her height equal to his in her heels, and kissed him. For a second her lips stilled, but before he could even process the fact that she was against him, she tilted her head, deepening the kiss as her fingers held the back of his head, her nails gently scraping his scalp.

"Funeral, Bones," he said as he carefully but firmly held her waist and put a few inches of space between them.

"No one can see," she replied, looking around.

"Come on," he said, leading her toward the car, mumbling that it was only a matter of time before they were discovered and that a burial wasn't the appropriate place for kissing.

In truth it scared him a little, the quick and easy way he seemed to desire her so intensely and completely after just a kiss.

* * *

As soon as the limo began to move, she locked the privacy window and started kissing him again. Sometimes it felt like Booth was the only one who could really see her. He saw beyond the exterior, perhaps even better than she did. Here he was, next to her, dropping everything to accompany her to a funeral, guarding her when he was concerned for her safety, holding her hand when she was uncertain, comforting her when she was sad. She seldom felt at a loss for words unless she was trying to explain intense feelings. Brennan had no idea what words could possibly convey her feelings.

As their kissing and subtle groping became a bit heavier, she felt the dizzy headiness he seemed to provoke frequently in her as of late. There was a sound he always made when he really started to become aroused. It was the mixture of a heavy sigh, a groan and a whimper, just barely engaging his vocal chords in wordless approbation.

Her hand wandered down the outside of his thigh, pressing firmly into the muscle, rounding his knee and very patiently working back up his leg. Her thumb was on his inner thigh, her palm resting on top of his leg, and she wondered momentarily how far he'd allow her hand to ascend before he picked it up and forced her to stop. So she moved slowly, allowing her fingers to massage his leg like they were content to just do that. She wondered if he was fooled by her actions. She distracted, allowing his hands to roam her sides, even skimming her breast, stroking her neck, all somewhat decently.

She actually made her way very far up his leg, feeling the tugged and tightened up fabric of his pants before he grabbed her hand and held it to his chest. "We'll be back at the hotel soon," he warned, looking around as if someone might be watching.

"The privacy screen is locked. The windows are tinted so no one can see in. And with traffic we have plenty of time."

"We keep getting caught up and then we rush things. Let's wait until we get back to the hotel and then we can…you know…enjoy it."

"We can take our time next time," she said, her eyes mischievous and playful. "I'm certain you'll enjoy this. You're not that inhibited, are you? You told me about all those girls under the bleachers and in parked cars, so I know you're not that shy…"

"Bones," he warned, but her hand wiggled free from his, moving down his chest and over to his hip, creeping over his leg until it paused warmly on his erection.

She heard him sigh deeply as she slid down in front of him, settling between his knees as she continued to fondle him with light strokes. "There's people out there," he mentioned, half-heartedly, as if he didn't _really_ want her to stop.

"That's part of the excitement, Booth," she insisted. Using one hand to untuck the front of his shirt from his pants, she whispered seductively, "Relax."

When he dropped his head back against the seat, she knew she had won this particular battle. She'd wanted to taste him for years, to see what it was like to suck his cock. He was such an interesting combination of confidence and uncertainty, both cocky and shy. That alpha male, the one who'd stood proudly with his hands on his hips like he was indestructible, seemed powerless as her lips slid along his length and her tongue laved passionately, studying every inch of taut, suede skin.

She expertly tied him up in knots, bringing him right to the brink and then slowing and lessening pressure to allow him to regain some control. The first time she did this, he seemed relieved, his fingers gently brushing her neck while his breath slowed. Gradually she allowed his passion to escalate again, this time continuing until he was right at the edge, and somehow breaking the rhythm that he'd come to expect and leaving him just short of release. That time he sounded momentarily more frustrated than relieved, but as she continued her exquisite tease, he was almost immediately swept up in the arousing sights and sensations she was offering.

As he neared ecstasy the third time, she heard him murmur, "Please, Bones, ohmygod," repeatedly until his murmurs became moans of tightly drawn pleasure. He lifted off the seat, her one hand moving to his hip to encourage him to slide into her mouth. She offered a slow, guttural moan, knowing the vibrations were going to shoot straight through him, and she was not disappointed. This time she didn't break her rhythm or intensity, in fact, she slightly tightened her grip, and he was undone. It sounded almost like he thanked her as he came, but the words that emerged from him were unclear at best.

When she was finished with him, she rubbed her palms over his abs, watching his heaving chest and unfocused eyes as he slumped down in the back of the limo. Reducing that man to such a state was empowering, and she wondered if she ever felt as confident and sexual as she did with him.

"Oh…my…God…" he barely managed to pant.

* * *

Sure the unknowing people outside had been a bit exciting, also nerve-wracking, but he had long since forgotten them. She'd made him forget the driver, and the motion of the vehicle, and even the seat he'd sat upon. It was just Brennan and him, and her mouth, her tongue, her hands. He shook his head, it was too soon to think about all of that again.

He felt her practically hop on the seat next to him. "I really do enjoy sexual contact," she happily stated.

His head rolled so he was facing her, his neck still too relaxed to actually support the weight. He smirked, "I can tell. Give me just a minute." His hand wound behind her back as he held her close, silently offering his thanks.

"We're almost back to the hotel now," she said. "Anything else will have to wait. Which is probably for the best. You seem a bit tired."

He saw her smirking, but he defended, "I do not leave a woman unsatisfied. Ever."

"I am not unsatisfied. Orgasm isn't the only type of satisfaction," she explained.

"That sounds like something you say to a guy so he doesn't feel bad when he…you know…"

"I do not know."

"You know…when he lets you down."

"Oh," she nodded slowly. "I am not worried about that. I have every confidence in your abilities. It is occasionally fun to simply give pleasure. I have to admit…I enjoyed that very much. Plus, this way you'll have some time to recover and hopefully you'll be able to perform again later."

"When we get back to our room, it's my turn to do things my way. I'm going to make you beg."

"That sounds promising," she grinned hungrily.

* * *

Brennan looked around and gathered her things since they were nearly at the hotel. She looked at her reflection in the window, and quickly ran a finger under her lip to fix a smudge of lipstick. He felt a jolt of preliminary excitement at that sight alone, and wondered if she really was always as spontaneous as she'd claimed to be.

"What would you like to do tomorrow?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts. "We have all day. Want to have lunch and wait for the bridge to go up for good luck? Or maybe see some of your Scotland Yard counterparts?"

An image flashed in his head. He thought of sitting near London Bridge, taking her hand in his and, somewhat casually, asking her if she'd marry him. He knew, without a doubt, she was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It was fast, terribly fast and long overdue at the same time. As far as he was concerned, he was ready to propose and plan the wedding. It hadn't been that long ago that she'd sadly told him that soon she'd be the only one without a child, and part of him wanted to tell her that together they could have _everything_ they wanted. Then there was the fact that they hadn't used any protection, or even talked about any sort of precautionary measure. They trusted each other with their lives, and they both knew they wouldn't do anything to risk the other's well-being. Oddly enough, it didn't even have to be said. Of course there were other considerations, but neither of them mentioned those possibilities.

If she knew he was even considering the possibility of marriage, she would think he was absolutely insane. He knew she didn't like the institution of marriage, and even if she would consider it in some bizarre alternate universe, she still wouldn't consider it so soon. He knew better than anyone, Bones could not be rushed. He was going to have to take things much slower than he wanted. When he thought about the fact that he wanted to be with her even though she didn't want to get married, he knew she was the only one for him. This relationship, or whatever it was, was going to involve a hell of a lot of compromise.

She was the only woman he was willing to be monogamously un-married with indefinitely. Still, he felt a strange confidence that one day he would have his wish. Prudently he decided to keep that thought to himself.

"Patience," he sighed without realizing that he'd spoken.

"I'm not acting impatiently," she responded.

"I was just thinking," he sleepily answered as he tried to tuck in his shirt, realizing that she must have buttoned and zipped his pants for him at some point.

"What were you thinking about?"

He looked at her, nearly saying a few of the things that had been floating in his head. Instead he smiled reassuringly and said, "You know…about the things we don't say."

"Ah," she said, offering a similarly reassuring smile, "those things."


End file.
